


Point of Impact

by nerdie



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, captain america: civil war - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Gen, Major Character Injury, My First AO3 Post, My First Work in This Fandom, One Shot, aka the angst about bucky's arm that no one asked for, also i'm ignoring the mid-credit scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 20:44:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6769237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdie/pseuds/nerdie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>~civil war spoilers ahead~</p><p>It's not the first time he's lost an arm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Point of Impact

**Author's Note:**

> wowwwwwwww so i haven't written a fic since 2014 and i've never written for this fandom but i just saw ca:cw and i'm done with school until august so i was like "fuck it" and decided to write this (it is 3 am)  
> this was formatted so nicely on word. oh well. here it is in its unbeta'd glory  
> bye

He’s not expecting it, when it happens. He’s never really thought about it ever happening, or how it would feel where it to ever happen. So when he feels the repulsor beam hit his arm, he doesn’t immediately react. He just keeps hitting, keeps digging his fingers into Tony – No, not Tony right now, _Iron Man_ , he can’t think of him as Tony Stark, son of his wartime friend, son of the people he killed in cold blood, not right now – he keeps attacking Iron Man, not trying to kill him, just trying to make him stop (he can’t kill him, can’t kill anyone, not anymore, no no no no, he won’t do it, won’t kill anyone).

And then he feels the pain.

He was, of course, already in pain. He’s been in constant pain since the 1940’s, since he fell off that damn train. Before that, even, since he was strapped down to a table in a Hydra lab. But this pain? This pain was nothing like any he had felt before, not even when he lost his (real) arm. He knew that there were nerve endings in his new arm, understood that they were there for accuracy and dexterity, but he didn’t know how much they could _hurt_.

He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe

 

he      can’t      breathe

 

 _he can’t breathe_.

 

He lets go of ~~Ton~~ y Iron Man, at least he thinks he does. He’s not sure if the movement is voluntary or involuntary, his mind’s reaction to the pain or the electricity of the beam short-circuiting his arm. Either way, one moment his fingers are digging into Tony’s (Iron Man’s) chest, and the next moment he’s lying face down, and his arm is across the room.

He’s not sure if he starts screaming.

He’s not sure if he could even if he wanted to.

It feels like his lungs have collapsed, like all of the air has been punched out of him. The pain of the repulsor beam is no match for the pain of being armless again. The pain tears through him again with every slight tremor of his body. The severed nerve endings feel like they’re on fire. Maybe they actually are. He’s not sure if he could turn his head to check. He doesn’t want to try, because he doesn’t really want to know.

He does vaguely register the growing pool of black around him.

Blood?

Or is it oil?

He’s not sure where flesh ends and metal begins.

 

 

Has the room always been spinning?

 

 

He can see Steve fighting Tony (no, no he had another name, what was it?). He wants to get up and help Steve. Steve could never finish a fight, no matter how many times he said “I could do this all day.” Steve needs him. He needs to get up and help Steve. He needs to finish this fight for him, just like he’s done with all of the other fights. Steve. He needs Steve.

The room is blurring.

He can still make out Steve’s outline, fuzzy and discolored, raising his shield above his head. Who is he fighting? Steve always seemed to be fighting someone. Maybe the blurriness would go away if he closed his eyes.

Then he’s being pulled up. His eyes snap open. Still blurry. Who is carrying him?

Steve? Since when was Steve this big? He tries to ask Steve, tries to say anything, but it’s like his mouth is sewn shut.

He realizes, vaguely, that Steve is carrying something else, too. Something long and metallic. It’s an arm.

An arm?

Oh. It’s _his_ arm.

And then it’s like the sutures holding his mouth closed have been snipped, and vomiting, chocking, spiting up on himself. Steve stops and looks horrified. He’s still holding the arm.

That’s when he lets his eyes slide shut.

 

 

 

The lights were soft, but they still blinded him.

He groaned (did it actually make a sound?). He was strapped down. No no no no no no no no not again not again.

Two heads turned to him. The blonde one (Stevie? No, no, it couldn’t be. Steve wasn’t there when he fell, wasn’t there when they experimented on him, wasn’t there when they cut off his arm and replaced it with a metal one) turned to him.

“Bucky? Hey, Buck, calm down.”

Calm down? Wha –?

Distantly he could hear an ever-increasing beep, more and more frantic as he tried to suck in a breath. The other man, the dark skinned one, began moving towards his bed. The blonde man stood back with his arms outstretched, as if he was trying to be soothing from afar. The other man must’ve injected him with something, because he slipped back into unconsciousness.

 

 

 

Waking up was still disorienting, but he did not feel the overwhelming sense of panic and danger that he’d felt last time. The restraints were gone.

The blonde man was back.

“Buck. Do you remember what happened? Do you know who I am?”

His throat was raspy and sore. He wasn’t sure if he could make a noise. “Your mother’s name was Sarah.”

The blonde man (Steve. It was Steve, his friend) quirked the corner of his lips in an approximation of a smile.

 

Later, when they explain what happened, he goes into shock. He’s used to shock. After all, he’s lost his left arm twice.

**Author's Note:**

> well that happened. idk man.  
> ((fun fact: when i wrote the dialogue i tried to cite it. academia has corrupted me))


End file.
